Concussion
by Fat Puppy
Summary: Season 13. Dean POV. Sam's headaches stemming from his multiple concussions take their toll.


**Concussion**

_**SUMMARY: Supernatural, Season 13. **__**Dean POV. Sam's headaches stemming from his multiple concussions take their toll.**_

* * *

"How's the head, Sammy?"

I didn't need to ask the question to get the answer, but with Sam having slid into a quiet funk in recent weeks, I felt the need to check in.

"Sam?"

He grunted in response and rubbed tense fingers over his temples. The lights in the kitchen were purposely dimmed, without putting us into complete darkness.

"Sam?" I asked again, setting a sandwich on the table and a bottle of his preferred flavor Vitamin Water. "You want anything else?"

"Huh? Oh, thanks." He finally said, squinting up toward me.

"Dude, I asked a question."

A hard blink, then a wobbled response. "Oh, um. No?"

Okay, no. He was way off. I sat across from him and pushed the water bottle closer. "Drink, Sam. And I didn't ask you a yes or no question."

He struggled to get a grip on the bottle, so I popped the top and studied him as he sipped at the orange liquid.

"Sooo, not feelin' any better, huh?"

Sam's eyes closed hard to push back a sharp jab of head pain before finding the ability to form words. And even then, it was nothing more than a confused, "Hey..."

"Hey yourself", I said back, working hard to keep my voice low and patient, despite my agitation. "Can you talk to me, please?"

"Wha...talk?"

"Yes. Sam. Me. You. Brothers. Talking. Talking about how the hell you feel right now. Because you look freakin' horrible."

Head shaking in frustration, Sam pinned his eyes tight again before finally seeing me in front of him.

"Dean?"

"Still here. Tryin' to talk to you."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, man. I just need to check in. This migraine stuff from the concussions seems longer lasting than the doc thought. You any better at all?"

There came a slow shake of the head as Sam reengaged his fingers massaging into his temple.

"Dunno," He finally said. "No? Um...Am I? Better...what?"

"SAM." I said it more forcefully than I should have in trying to snap him back to this planet.

"Dean. D'n have ta yell. Um...can't think clear, or... Nothin' make sense."

Not good and not better. Crap. "Maybe we need a follow up with the doc, huh? If the meds aren't working, he can give you something different to try."

"Dunno. Stomach feels kinda sick."

"He said the drugs would do that."

"Supposed to help the headaches though."

"No help at all?"

"It hurts, Dean. It really hurts."

"Yeah, I know it does. Can you eat a little somethin'? Then you can lay down again." I pointed to the sandwich. "It's PBJ. Easy. Just try, okay? If you can't, you can't."

To his credit, he did try. Sam always did try at whatever the obstacle. Got a few bites down before clutching his stomach. I came around the table and slipped an arm around his waist.

"Gonna be sick? Come on."

"Dunno. Maybe. Dunno."

"Jesus, Sam, here. Get up. Let's get you to the bathroom just in case."

We staggered down the hall and I sat him on the closed toilet lid. Lights in the hall and bathroom all dimmed. The entire bunker was on a low light setting, some even shut down completely. Seemed more like a dungeon than a home, but it helped Sam.

"Just sit until it passes."

"Dean."

"Yeah, I know, it hurts, this sucks and we go on. We really need to see the doc again, Sam. The clinic is open late hours today, it's Wednesday, right? Yeah."

"S'okay."

"What's okay? Stomach?"

"No. Doc. Should go."

Damn. Didn't see that coming. Sam not insisting he'd be fine and didn't need another doctor visit. A Winchester admitting they felt like hell? Alarm bells go off and you take that seriously.

...Okay, refocus, Dean. Little brother needs help, is actually reaching out and in debilitating pain. Take care of Sammy. Always, take care of Sammy. Got it...

"All right, Sam. We can go now, as long as you promise not to puke in my car."

"Promise," he panted out, reaching for my arm to help him stand.

"Hang tight for a sec, lemme find your shoes and then we'll get."

Shoes on, I stuck a pair of sunglasses on Sam's face so the faltering light of the late evening wouldn't be tough on him. We could wait until complete dark, but Sam needed help now, not in two hours.

Dragging his unhelpful ass to the car was fun, but been there done that too many freakin' times to remember. What I didn't do for my little brother. There was an odd silence as we drove the few miles to the clinic, and that was different. Not that is was odd for Sam be silent during our endless hours in the car, but usually it was by choice. This time, it was my little brother feeling like hell and looking like hell and confused and scared and hurting and... and I absolutely hated it.

Sunglasses stayed on as we limped into the clinic. I pushed Sam down into a corner chair and checked him in. The doc he'd seen first time around was on duty, but with another patient, so we waited a bit longer to see him specifically. Close next to me, Sam sat quiet. Too quiet, even for him. Under the glasses I could see his eyes closed hard as his head wobbled around.

The doc strongly suggested a CT scan to rule bad things out, even though he was still confident that the cause of Sam's issues was the recent string of head trauma. Longer recovery times weren't uncommon, he'd said as both traumas and patients varied. A different medication was offered and accepted, along with one to help curtail the nausea. I took the paper referral for the CT scan. Sam and I would discuss that later. The doc said the word 'rest' about 800 times until the message was pounded into my skull. Rest and no stress. Practically an impossibility in our line of work, but we'd try.

Sam worked hard during the exam to stay upright and awake, but the task was exceedingly difficult. The doc thought it a positive sign that while Sam's head bobbled around in exhaustion, his face didn't seem to be clenching in pain every few seconds. The intervals seemed longer. Knowing my brother, however, I attributed that more to Sam's determination and stubbornness than the actual lessening of pain. Neither of us were all that enthusiastic about letting others see our weaknesses. That damn Winchester pride, I guess. At home though, especially in recent years it wasn't unusual that we let our guard down with each other. At this point in our lives, hiding things from the one person that we spent 24/7 with just took too much damned effort.

"You wanna stop for food on the way home?" I said to Sam after getting him into the passenger side of the Impala. "Doc said go easy on certain foods that can trigger headaches, but can get you grilled chicken or something. You need something in your stomach, especially since you didn't touch the PBJ."

We rolled out of the parking lot as Sam maintained the silence; his head having lolled to the side and planted on the window.

"Sammy!" I said sharply. That got him.

"Huh?"

"Food? Eat? Chicken?"

"Oh, um, okay, sure."

Hit the drive-thru at the place Sam that favored for their grilled chicken and got the sandwich plain. I myself was starving, so I'd eat the fries that came with his, along with my own large order and a burger drenched with everything.

Home now and I got Sam inside first, then went back for the food. He managed a few bites of the sandwich and a few swigs of a Gatorade. Room temperature. Disgusting, but anything cold seemed to aggravate the head pain.

"M'gonna lay down," he stuttered out, not realizing he was already sitting on his bed. Trying to get up, I pushed him back down from my bedside chair.

"Sam, just lay back. You're in your bed, remember? I figured you wouldn't stay upright in the kitchen so we just ate in your room. I've already pulled off your shoes and got you into your sweats, so you're okay. I promise, Sammy, okay? You're all good, just lay back and breathe."

For whatever reason, that moment became the breaking point. Why, how...no idea. But it was then when my little brother, the strongest freakin' person I knew, took a glance towards his pillow, squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head. Immediately, deep sucking breaths choked in and out as he went on shuttering and staggering in a sad attempt to maintain some type of composure.

I sagged onto the bed beside him and sat. Arm tucked around and rubbing at his back to try and not be as helpless as a felt. Long seconds later, my giant of a little brother, as he'd done so many times as a kid, settled his head toward me, where it slid to a stop on my chest. He rested there, breath heavy and labored. I moved my hand to the side of his head and gently massaged in slow circles. Sam was in pain. The most pain I'd seen him in, probably since he'd been shot by the werewolf in the wooded cabin a few years back. There, we'd had to move quickly to avoid being killed by the other wolves. Even filled with lead, he had the adrenaline to operate. But now? Now, it was just straight up head-exploding pain. And it was just too much.

We sat there for a bit. Damn if I was gonna let go of him while he was in such a bad place. And Sam, well he showed no signs of wanting me to let go. So we sat. Silent, other than his breathing, some whimpering and an occasional choked sob. The whimpering, the crying. None of that mattered. This was me. Just me and Sam and that was it. As much as we loved those friends that we considered family, there were times when we didn't need or want any of that around. It had been the two of us for so long, through so much crap that sometimes it was important it was just me and Sam and nothing else.

At some point he calmed enough to take one of the new pain meds and a nausea pill. Some gagging on the second pill, but he washed it down with Gatorade and then drank more at my asking. After, he settled horizontal onto the pillow, eyes closed, making the effort to relax.

I was bedside, sagging gentle on the mattress. Sam's eyes relented some and squeezed not so tight now. The meds wouldn't have worked so quickly, but I took the signs as a positive.

Placing a hand on his arm, I made an easy rubbing motion so he knew I was still there.

"Doin' good, Sammy. Doin' good."

There was a bare whisper of my name; Sam making sure I planned on sticking around.

"Here, Sam. Right here." I said, continuing the circular motion.

A heavy breath released, some tension with it. The latest round of headaches subsiding some. I could see it in the continued de-crinkling of his face and could feel it in the arm under my hand.

I moved that hand and wrapped my fingers around his where my soft grip was answered with a quiet, desperate need. A need for me to stay. A need to not be alone.

It was almost two hours before Sam found real sleep. A combination of the headache lessening and the new meds working, I figured. I hoped. At some point I felt comfortable enough leaving him. Making sure his phone was on the nightstand and the brightness on the screen turned down, I set it there for him in case he needed me. Then I left for my own bedroom.

Sam slept and slept hard. It was after ten before he woke the next morning. He looked like hell warmed over though. Hair at all odd angles; clothes wrinkled; dark circles under bleary eyes. But he was upright. Mostly. I grabbed hold of him when he shuffled into the kitchen and got him to the seat. That damn parental instinct of mine kicked in as I felt his head for fever. He had that look to him, but thankfully there was no heat.

"Turkey bacon and egg whites comin' up, little brother." I didn't give him the option of saying no. The food was bland and boring and he needed to eat something. I wanted another pain pill on board before the worst returned, and food would make the meds easier on the stomach.

"Dean? What times'it?"

"After ten. You were down for a while. You needed it," I said, tossing three small pieces of bacon in a pan next to the quickly frying egg whites.

"Wh...what's that smell?"

"Dude, I'm cookin' you breakfast."

"No. Stinks."

"Well, it _is_ turkey bacon. Freakin' _turkey_ bacon... There should be a law or something against callin' this crap bacon..."

"No...Dean. Not food. That's um...oh..."

I came to the conclusion just as he did. Something stunk and stunk badly.

And it was my brother.

"That's you, man. All that sweatin' like a pig stuff you do."

Sam started pushing himself up. "Need a shower."

"Uh uh. Sit the hell down. I don't care if you smell like sewer water, you are eating this morning. I'm serious. Stomach's good right now, yeah?"

"Yeah." He slowly moved back to the seat.

"Good". Bacon and eggs plated and on the table in front of him. "Eat it. All of it. You want Gatorade or Vitamin Water? Huh? Okay. Gatorade it is." I poured him a glass. "Drink it all."

"Dean."

"Not kidding, Sam. You were a mess last night. Once the worst comes back, you might be again later, so we're taking advantage of your downtime. Eat. Drink. Shower. Clean clothes. The whole deal. I'll change your sheets over while you're in the shower."

He did eat. Reluctantly at first, then realizing how empty his stomach was, the rest went down quickly. Food in. Pills followed.

"S'good." Sam said. "Thanks."

"I can make another round if you're still hungry."

Shaking his head, Sam gave me a firm no. And that was okay. He'd eaten. Had a decent sized meal and got some electrolytes in with the Gatorade. He was also mostly functional at the moment, no matter what he actually looked like physically.

"Good, go grab a shower. Tame that damn mop on your head."

I got a look, but not the crack of a smile I'd hoped for at the teasing.

"You okay on your own?"

"I can get a shower by myself, Dean. Not an invalid."

"Yeah, yeah. Just checkin'. You had me freaked out last night, man. Just makin' sure."

Sam's irritation dropped and he nodded. "I know. Wasn't fun for me either."

"Maybe the new meds will keep the worst at bay until things clear up. Will see. Just, lemme know if you need anything."

The new meds did help some. Sam's nausea relented even though his waves of headaches rolled in again late afternoon. I put him back in bed with a dark room, clean sheets and sat bedside with him until he conked out at midnight. And there was our pattern for the next few days when finally Sam's pain began to show signs of waning. Even then, I kept him away from certain things. No research. Long periods of staring at a computer or phone screen was still out of the question for at least another week. Boring as hell, yes, but necessary.

Sam wandered into the library and sat across from me. "Hey."

"Hey. You look better."

"I feel better. Mostly. Just a little throbbing pain behind my eyes today. Not terrible."

"Good. Maybe we're past the worst of it."

I said 'we', though it was Sam going through this hell, but he didn't call me on it. He knew the reality of our lives. The reality our relationship as brothers. The relationship that had, on more than one occasion, been called 'unhealthy codependence'. But, it was what it was and there was no changing that. Ever.

"Yeah, maybe so. Thanks. Dean." Sam said simply. Acknowledging my efforts of the last week, though he also knew there was no need to do so.

"We're takin' the rest of the week before we get back into this thing. So don't get any ideas about starin' at your laptop for the next four hours. You can have TV, that's it."

I saw the 'you're not the boss of me' glare flash across my little brother's face. I grinned and set another bottle of orange liquid in front of him.

"No more, Gatorade, Dean. Come on."

"It's good for you. You're not havin' a beer until you're a hundred percent, and nothing cold yet. Baby steps until the headaches are gone."

"I'm fine with that, but can we go out somewhere and eat? I need something more than Gatorade and egg whites for lunch."

"No caffeine either."

"Yes, mom. Anymore rules?"

"Don't get smart, little brother. I own you right now."

"Whatever. Let's just go. I need to get out. And yes, I'll wear my dark sunglasses and I'll go easy and I won't look at my phone and I won't stare directly at the sun and I won't get another concussion either going to or coming home from lunch. Good enough?"

I thought about it, nodding my head back and forth, "Yeah, that about covers it. You do need to tame that hair though. Meet you in the car in fifteen."

We drove to Sam's favorite place. Sat in the booth furthest from the window and enjoyed a decent and full meal.

For the first time in a while, we were upright and together and almost healthy. The worries I'd had for my little brother this last and very long week, had been pocketed for another day.

Another obstacle down. Another obstacle defeated.

Together.

Me and Sam.

We were good now.

We were us.

* * *

The end


End file.
